Blame It On the Booze
by ashehole
Summary: When you're drunk, and you've been lonely for so long, even the most unlikely person could turn you on... A KylexMichael slash... Extreme AU, kthx


AN: I haven't read Final Eclipse, but I know that… Well, Kyle dies

**AN: I haven't read Final Eclipse, but I know that… Well, Kyle dies. I wrote this before I knew that, and well, this is a good story, I think. In my opinion. So, extremely AU. Mwah!!**

**Title: Blame It on the Booze**

It was a chance meeting, really. It wasn't like it was a planned incident. Kyle just saw him from across a bar. He remembered his face, remembered the past, and well… Why shouldn't he have gone to talk to him? They knew each other. Yes, a few years spanned between their last meeting, but if Kyle could recognize him, why not the other way around? Grabbing his drink, he slid off the bar stool and headed towards the other man.

"Michael."

The man looked up at Kyle, his eyes dark and showing a lifetime of exhaustion and sorrow. His dark hair was long and little greasy, like it hadn't been washed in a few days. His face, his whole body really, seemed to sag just a little more than it should have.

"Kyle, right? We went to high school together?" Damn, even his voice sounded worn down.

"At one time, before I went to Turney," Kyle replied with an awkward smile.

Michael looked him over, throwing back his drink while letting the silence between them grow. Finally, he nodded to the seat next to him. Kyle took it, feeling a little more awkward now.

"You're looking… Well, you look—"

"Like shit?" Michael offered, his dark brows rising.

Kyle coughed a little, but gave a curt nod anyway. Michael finally conceded to give him a smile.

"I have been doing badly these, uh, few years. It could be worse, I suppose."

"Vanessa—"

Michael sent Kyle a dark look, and he instantly shut up. It was still an obvious wound for him, and Kyle perfectly understood it.

"Sorry, man," he mumbled into his glass.

"Whatever." Michael shrugged. "You still paint?"

The painter looked up in surprise. "How'd you know about my painting?"

"I've heard it mentioned before. Even went to one of your art shows."

That admission piqued Kyle's curiosity. "What'd you think of the pieces?"

"You're good, dude. I won't pretend to know art, but it looked good," Michael told him, remembering the dark paintings he had looked over, seeing a pain in the work that matched Michael's internal struggle.

Kyle felt a little flushed. The admiration of his work went right to his head, giving him a buzzed little pleasure. Or maybe that was the alcohol he had been consuming all night.

"Do you still perform?"

Michael stared into his empty glass. "Sometimes. I love being in a band, making music. It gets hard, though." He looked up at Kyle, stared hard into his eyes. "Y'know?"

"Y-yeah. I know."

"So, how about we continue this pity party at my place. Free booze," Michael offered.

It was a sweet temptation, and Kyle jumped on it. He'd been alone far too long, trying not to have too much contact with humanity. "Sure."

The walk to Michael's apartment was a relatively short one, as he conveniently located himself only five blocks away from the bar. Kyle laughed to himself, thinking about it. Had Michael been drinking himself into a mega stupor all this time?

Michael caught the artist's private smile. "What's the joke?"

"Huh?" The world was moving around him. The door was real fuzzy, made worse when his companion opened it. He followed his host in, taking the place in at a moment's glance. Well, the man might have been a drunk, but he was immaculate.

"Clean much, Mikey?" He joked.

Michael grinned at that, his teeth big and white. Kyle was slightly mesmerized by the sight, finding himself thinking that this boy should smile more often.

"Well, I'm a little bit of a neat freak. Thirsty?"

"Hell yeah."

While Michael busied himself with the drinks, Kyle flopped down onto the couch, closing his eyes to the world. "Do you ever just absolutely hate what you've become?"

He felt a shift on the couch as Michael sat down. A cool glass was shoved into his hand before he felt obliged to open his eyes again. The dark-haired man was staring at him, hard.

"All the time. All the fucking time."

"It could have been so different," Kyle murmured. "So incredibly different."

A crooked smile lit up Michael's face. "You gonna start crying?"

"No!" He pushed at the other boy's chest, laughing. Michael started laughing with him.

"Hey, whatever. It's cool. We'll blame it on the booze."

"I'm not gonna cry. I was just remarking that…"

"That it could have been different. I know, man, I know."

Kyle downed his drink, letting it burn his throat and warm his stomach. "I loved her."

"Yes."

"I would have done…" He closed his eyes as he rode a wave of dizziness.

"Would have done?" Michael prompted.

He opened his eyes again. A shiver ran through his body as he focused on the stare. "You look really good."

"You must be drunk if I look good. Especially since you told me that I looked like shit earlier."

"No, no." Kyle waved his words off.

"I mean it, Mikey. You look so good right now."

To his shock, Michael's face turned a deep, scarlet red. "Kyle…"

"Sorry, sorry. You just keep staring at me like you're delving into my soul."

"I think no more drinks for." He reached over, taking Kyle's empty glass from him.

Kyle grabbed Michael's arm, his breath coming out in slight, ragged pants. "That stare is really turning me on. Do you know that? I've never been turned on by another man before. Is that weird, Mikey? It's that fucking stare, and this damn loneliness, and you seem just so innocent. But you're not, are you, Mikey?"

Michael let out Kyle babble on about it, watching him carefully. "You're drunk, Kyle. That's all. This is the booze, man."

"Naw." He gave his poor victim a grin. "I've got a hard on right now. You seriously are turning me on."

Michael swallowed hard. "I… Kyle, you're kinda freaking me out. Do you want some coffee, or a cab?"

"I really just want you, Mikey. I want you to take this annoying erection away, I mean, you're a guy!" Kyle laughed to himself, but he was beginning to wonder what was wrong with him, too.

"Dude, this isn't cool." Michael stood up, shaking Kyle's hand off of him. He went into the kitchen, putting the glasses into the sink. His body was shaking. He just couldn't get Kyle's words out of his head.

"I'm not gay!" he exclaimed, shaking his head.

"Neither am I," Kyle muttered. Michael turned to face him. With a quick glance downward, he ascertained that Kyle _indeed_ did have a hard on.

"Kyle, man, I think you need a cab to go home and sleep off the alcohol."

"You're lonely, too, Mikey. Don't tell me that you don't want company, that you don't need somebody to touch you." He came closer, closing in on Michael..

"Not like this."

"Exactly like this."

Kyle's hand shot up, latching onto Michael's hair, his fingers dinging in the greasy locks. He pulled him closer, hand locked onto the back of his head. Michael gripped his fist into the front of Kyle's shirt as their mouths met in a rough kind of smashing. It couldn't have really been called a kiss.

They moved back from each other, nervous and drunken laughs escaping their mouths in harmony. This time, they let their lips mesh together smoothly. Kyle brought Michael closer to him, his free arm wrapping around the other man's waist. Michael opened his mouth to Kyle's insistence, and they tasted the alcohol on each other's tongues.

But the both had to admit to themselves that they missed a physical touch, that they missed _this_.

"Show me your bedroom, Mikey."

"Kyle, I—"

"In the morning, if you still protest, we'll just blame it on the booze. Deal?"

Instead of answering, Michael just kissed Kyle again.

**AN: So, um, yeah. Review!!**


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